He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not
by Tara the Duchess of Nil
Summary: Set pre S1, Thomas and Philip, The Duke of Crowborough, have an ... ummmmm ... interesting, dysfunctional relationship. They're vain, they complain, and they like pain, both emotional and physical. This is a glimpse of how they met and one evening in particular a few weeks later. This is my first fanfic this decade. Hope you enjoy it!
1. Chapter 1

Thomas was late.

They had agreed almost every evening to meet at half past midnight. Now it was quarter to one and he was certainly fucked … and not in the manner he wanted.

He was in love with Philip. Completely, utterly in love, like no one else ever before.

They had seen each other over the course of a long, steamy July in London. As their paths crossed everywhere from dinners (Thomas serving, Philip eating) to polo matches (Thomas serving, Philip playing), whenever Thomas glanced in Philip's direction, he would catch the nobleman staring at him with a tiny bemused grin playing on his lips. The footman always broke the contact first, suspicious that the Philip was in some way teasing or testing him, waiting for him to slip up and report any indiscretion to Lord Grantham, but he couldn't get the elegant doe-eyed man out of his mind.

One evening during one of the seemingly endless parties, Thomas stepped outside into a courtyard for a cigarette, in desperate need for a break. _Because fresh air is better for you when inhaled through a cigarette, _he had once told William with sniff of superiority. William had walked back into the kitchen simply shaking his head.

Thomas cracked his neck and leaned against a stack of crates, looking up into the sky in vain for stars as thunder rumbled in the distance, bringing with it the scent of rain. Earlier, he had gotten close enough to Philip to take in his essence, a combination of cigars and expensive cologne and something primal. Something that Thomas couldn't begin to describe or completely understand.

Thomas had lit his cigarette and was inhaling deeply when a voice soft as velvet spoke behind him, "Good God man, I don't know _how _you do it!"

Thomas jumped and held the smoke in his mouth, afraid to exhale. He began to cough and sputter as he dropped the cigarette and tried to crush it with his foot.

"Oh, I am _so_ sorry! I didn't mean to frighten you!"

Thomas managed to turn to see Philip through watery eyes. "'Tis quite alright, y-y-y-your grace," the footman wheezed as he wiped his eyes. In his bespoke tuxedo that fit his lithe figure perfectly, Philip would have taken Thomas' breath away if he had any left to give. As he tried to straighten himself, Philip began slapping him on the back.

"Oh, please, call me Philip. Those dreadful sisters are too busy arguing inside to hear. Mary and Edith … they're like a couple of hens pecking at each other."

Thomas was shocked that a _duke_ was so scathing and unguarded. He was glad that his coughing fit covered up his unease … although he was secretly delighted that the miserable bitches were being insulted by one of their own class. (He only had O'Brien to commiserate with.)

"How can you bear having to listen to them squabble all day long and keep a straight face?" Philip asked as he eased up and patted Thomas softly.

Thomas smiled but didn't risk saying a word as his coughing subsided.

Philip stopped and then let his hand linger a bit too long on Thomas' back. Thomas could feel the heat of Philip's palm though his livery, and although the night was stifling, the footman shivered. They stood that way for what Thomas thought was an eternity. He was afraid to move or speak and simply breathed in Philip's warm scent.

Philip slowly began to move his hand in gentle circles on Thomas' back, making soft swooshing noises against the fabric. Thomas swallowed a cough and tried to remain calm, closing his eyes and daring himself to believe that what was happening was actually real and not a cruel joke.

Philip leaned in, his lips ever so lightly brushing against Thomas' earlobe and whispered, "I was hoping to catch you by yourself, and now here we are."

Moments later, Thomas was standing alone up against a wall as the rain began to fall, in desperate need of finishing himself off, a house number burned into his mind. _What the hell just happened? _Thomas thought as he tried to conjure up the most horrific sight he could imagine to quell his desire_: the Dowager, naked, squatting over a chamber pot._ His lips were swollen and painful. He dabbed his mouth with the back of his hand and was surprised to see a bit of blood from the spot where Philip had decided to sink in his teeth. _Phi-lip_. _Lip. Lips._ _Maybe my secret name for him can be Lips, _he chuckled. He then quickly corrected himself,_ Stop being such a ninny and get your arse back inside before Carson hands it to you._

It wasn't the first time he had fallen so quickly and completely. No, his heart had once belonged to a she … a stray cat he had befriended for a whole fortnight when he was nine. The cat would hide in the box hedges and spring out meowing when she saw Thomas meandering his way home from school. She was black with tiny white paws and a white mark on the top of her head. Thomas thought she looked like she was wearing a crown and gloves and therefore needed a name reflecting her royal resemblance. Thus, Princess it was, even though Thomas had no idea if the cat was male or female.

He started saving bits of meat from his lunch to feed Princess. She would circle Thomas' legs, meowing and begging for attention. Thomas would always sit on the ground and the cat would climb into his lap, purring happily while he scratched her under her chin and softly told her his secrets. Then, every time (and Thomas never knew when it was coming) Princess would suddenly twist her head and bite him or take a swipe with her claws, hissing as she ran away, leaving him wondering what it was he had done wrong.

To Thomas, the physical pain of every scratch was nothing like the loneliness he had felt for almost all of his nine years. Having some affection—even just a little bit for a little while—was like a tonic. It made him feel lighter, and almost happy for once.

Now Thomas tried to avoid colliding with packs of drunken noblemen while tearing through the darkened streets to Philip's house in Mayfair. Pleasing him was all Thomas had on his mind; it wasn't always easy or pretty, but it was the only thing that brought Thomas joy.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for your reviews! I've tried to make Philip not too much of a bad guy. He's just sort of obnoxious and selfish but I don't think he always means to be.**

Philip had lavishly presented Thomas with a key to the back door two days after their first encounter, having demanded it from his butler, who looked the other way and handed it to him without comment. He knew better than to question Philip's intentions, although they were always questionable.

(Philip's valet felt the same way, as Philip was constantly "misplacing" things … expensive ones at that. A silk tie left in a carriage, a pair of cufflinks forgotten in the washroom. Each item became a gift from Philip to Thomas, who never refused these trinkets of the life he longed to have someday.)

Thomas fumbled with the key in the lock, sweat running down his forehead and into his eyes, making it difficult to see. Once inside, he removed his shoes and crept up the staircase as quietly as his tingling, adrenaline-charged body would allow.

Philip's bedroom door was ajar, the light streaming out of it just enough to illuminate Thomas' path as he snuck down the hall, past the room of Philip's mother.

_Nosy cow_, Thomas thought. (Philip had told him so.)

Thomas stood silently, trying to catch his breath, and peered through the crack. Philip sat on the edge of the bed in his burgundy dressing gown, pouring whiskey into a glass. Thomas' heart leapt at the sight of him in the soft lamplight, golden skin and long eyelashes. A lock of brown hair fell over one eye, and Thomas itched to brush it away. He slowly pushed open the door and stepped inside. _Perhaps he hasn't noticed the time? _he thought.

"And where the hell have you been?" Philip snarled without looking up.

_Oh shite._

Thomas shut the door behind him, locked it and stood helplessly. He was sweating, from the unbearably hot summer and from the fear of the situation he found himself in.

Thomas shrugged his jacket from his shoulders. Years of training, plus recent haranguing from Carson had made Thomas hesitant to carelessly discard his livery on the floor … but with time short and his arousal heightened, he just didn't give a toss.

"I'm sorry! They wouldn't leave, just kept rabbiting on and on and on …" Thomas said and slowly approached the bed, attempting a bit of a swagger in an effort to pacify Philip's anger.

Philip snorted and growled, "A likely story." He polished off the whiskey in one gulp slamming the glass onto the table so hard Thomas flinched and stopped, reflexively ready to fall forward onto his hands and knees to clean up the inevitable shards.

With the glass amazingly still intact, Thomas straightened up and ran his arm against his forehead, wiping away the sweat from his brow_. Fifteen bloody minutes late_. A familiar stab of anger plunged deep in his chest, much like the ones he had felt as a child when other boys (and a few girls) had made his life a living hell.

At times like this, he couldn't help himself but to be coarse. Fight or flight. It was instinct, like snatching one's hand away from a hot stove, but fight always won out.

"What was I supposed to do?" he said, attempting a seductive smile and some weak laughter and as tilted his head. " 'Sorry, Mr. Carson, can't stay, got a duke to fuck?' "

He thought Philip would become extremely aroused at his crude choice of words (as Philip had just the night before when he made Thomas crawl across the floor and beg for his cock) but as Philip narrowed his eyes in response, Thomas instantly wished he could take them back.

Philip abruptly stood up and crossed the room in three strides, grabbed Thomas by the shoulders and shoved him into the wall. Although almost a match in size, Thomas was strong, but Philip was stronger.

"Is this a joke to you?" he hissed into Thomas' ear. "Perhaps I'll have to tell Lord Grantham that one of his servants is sullying his house's good name by indulging in highly illegal, indecent behavior."

Philip tightened his grip on Thomas's shoulders—so hard that Thomas knew he'd be bruised come morning—and kept him pinned to the wall.

Thomas' heart began pounding even harder and the walls suddenly drew closer. "You never …" he whispered, failing miserably at keeping his face emotionless.

Philip parroted back at him in a crude imitation of Thomas' accent, "You never!"

He paused, ready to continue the assault but then saw genuine fear in Thomas' eyes. Philip began laughing hysterically, "Thomas …. your … your face! You should see it right now! You look absolutely t-t-t-terrified."

Philip released Thomas' shoulders and the footman slumped back against the wall shaking, his mouth hanging open in a mix of shock, embarrassment and relief. Philip was doubled over in laughter. "Oh my God your … face. You never!" he squealed, throwing up his hands in mock horror and shaking.

"I don't sound like that!" Thomas cried, straightening his vest and feeling the familiar heat of shame rise in his cheeks. The shame of being pelted by snowballs, of having his trousers yanked down, of being punched in the back for simply existing.

Philip saw Thomas' expression and put his hands on his hips, "Oh, come on now. You didn't believe me. You're not THAT thick," he said condescendingly.

"I'm not thick at all," Thomas said flatly, and ran his hands through his dark hair. He wished he were clever enough to quickly think of a scathing comeback.

"Oh, don't be so _serious_," Philip said, wiping away tears with the sleeve of his dressing gown as he walked back toward the lavishly appointed bed. "I apologize, sweetheart, but the look on your face was absolutely priceless and so worth it."

Thomas clenched his fists and stood silently fuming.

Philip turned around, slouched, and held out his arms in a half wave. "Come here, you," he cajoled.

Thomas made no move to follow him.

Philip stepped forward, took Thomas' arms and wrapped them around his waist in a sloppy hug, pressing their foreheads together. Thomas couldn't help but inhale Philip's distinct scent that made him feel lightheaded and, despite his frustration, Thomas felt the uncontrollable spark of desire deep inside his belly starting to burn.

Philip rubbed Thomas' back soothingly and slid his hands up to his neck. "I've had such a dreadful day, so please don't be cross with me. It's been so unfair to only see you at these stupid parties and not touch you. It's unbearable, and it just makes me act like a child, I suppose," he murmured.

Philip pulled his head back and carded his fingers through Thomas' hair while Thomas' eyes remained firmly glued to the floor. "I h-h-hate it, too. Those _women_ falling all over you. It's … disgusting," Thomas spat and squeezed his eyes shut.

Philip clucked his tongue and said, "It's just a game, darling. Just think of it that way." Thomas sighed and Philip lifted his chin with one finger and leaned in for a soft kiss on his red lips.

"You're jealous," Philip whispered into Thomas' mouth. He reached down and began to slowly undo Thomas' bowtie. "Mmmm. How I _love_ that."

Thomas felt his trousers tighten as the tie fell to the floor.

Philip unfastened the first few buttons on Thomas' shirt and said lowly, "And you're _so_ afraid of being caught."

Thomas' breath quickened.

"It drives me mad me knowing that you're so unsure …"

Philip softly lapped at the base of Thomas' neck and began a trail upwards.

"So beautiful … so scared," Philip breathed in between kisses. He gently cupped Thomas' backside, and the footman began to moan softly as he melted into Philip's caresses.

Philip then bit down just underneath his jaw.

Hard.

"Bloody hell!" Thomas yelped. _Shite. Was that out loud?_ he thought.

Philip snapped out of his arousal, lifted his head from his task and asked exasperated, "What?"

Thomas' throat was suddenly dry, "You, you know when you do that, what it does to me," he creaked out nervously.

Philip nodded, smirked and chuckled deeply in response. He began teasing the bite mark slowly with the tip his tongue.

"I just … I … It's just become a bit _painful_. And it's awkward being so … so black and blue. I'm afraid of what Carson or His Lordship would think if they were to notice."

"Your livery hides everything … you've got a high collar …" Philip said in between licks.

"... No it doesn't! I've got marks all over! I look … _diseased_ or something!"

Philip withdrew his tongue from Thomas' neck and his hands from his backside and pulled back to look Thomas in the eyes.

"Listen to me, Thomas," Philip said firmly with his hands on Thomas'' shoulders. "You are _nothing _to them. _No-thing_."

Thomas scrunched his eyebrows, trying to comprehend what Philip was telling him and not quite believing it.

"Their minds are filled with the things that matter to them. Clothes. Money. Love. Prestige. Not … _you_ and your petty concerns," Philip said, waving his hands dismissively. "I'm only telling you this because I know how these things are, something you'll probably never understand."

"But last night, Lady Edith gave me the oddest look when I was serving her …."

Philip snorted, "Well, that's just her face. God played a cruel trick on her."

Ever one for a good insult expertly lobbed (and Philip had proved himself a master), Thomas found himself surprised again by Philip's casual nastiness but laughed warily nonetheless.

Philip decided to change the subject by putting his hands on Thomas' chest and pushing him back onto the bed. Thomas landed ungracefully and sank into the soft cloud of duvets and pillows, a far cry from his own spartan cot. _I never want to leave_, he thought.

Philip climbed onto the bed and straddled Thomas' hips. "Please forget all about them," he said. "We have so much to do and so little time."

Philip untied his dressing gown to reveal his painfully erect cock and breathed, "I've been aching for you all day." Thomas smiled slyly in response as Philip began to slowly rock back and forth, pressing his erection against Thomas' crotch. Thomas rolled his eyes back and groaned, the weight and the friction delightful.

"Now say something … _common_," Philip said with a teasing grind of his hips that left Thomas panting. "You know I like a bit of _rough_," he added gruffly in a poor attempt at what he thought was a working class accent. Philip hadn't even so much spoken more than two words to his downstairs staff to even know what it sounded like.

"_Blimey_! Go on then_, mate,_" Philip said, as he leaned in to clench a fistful of Thomas' hair while he resumed alternately biting and kissing Thomas' neck overtop of the bruises that hadn't even yet began to fade.

Thomas lost himself and blurted out, "But she were staring at me neck! "

"Mmmmmmm … _yeah_, _mate_," Philip purred, not fully listening to Thomas' words as he continued his task.

"I'm serious! I don't want to get sacked because of it!" Thomas shouted. _Oh God._

Philip released his grip on Thomas' hair, sat back on his heels and sneered, "Really, Thomas, it's just a _job_. If you ever lost it, you'd get another one. It's not like it requires any thought; you open doors and serve pudding for Christ's sake!"

Philip swung his leg over Thomas and flopped down next to him on the bed. "It's not exactly something a reasonably clever man should be proud of, is it?" he asked as he reached over to pour another whiskey.

Thomas opened his mouth to speak then quickly shut it. _So he thinks I'm not thick_, he thought, and mentally added that to the very short list of compliments Philip gave him that didn't involve his size, tongue, taste or tightness.

"Besides, they're probably already looking for your replacement. You are getting to be a bit long in the tooth for a footman." he smirked with the casual disregard of a man who's never been told no.

Thomas let out a breath in annoyance, "That's never going to happen. I'll be a valet soon."

"Of _course_ you will," Philip teased as he put the top back onto the decanter. "But for now, _they_ own _you_. And, I'm so very glad they do."

"What are you going on about?" Thomas asked raising himself up on his elbows, genuinely puzzled, his voice going up an octave.

Philip ignored the question, emptied his glass and said, "You're _their_ property."

"I'm not a _slave_. I can leave wherever, whenever the hell I want to," Thomas growled, his lips curling into a snarl.

Philip put the glass back onto the table and shook his head, "You can't leave now," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Thomas raised an eyebrow at him.

"You're my property tonight. And I'll mark you as I see fit," Philip said smugly as he lay on top of Thomas.

"This is mine," he said, tracing a heart-shaped line between Thomas' nipples. Thomas pressed his lips together to hold in a gasp.

"These are mine," Philip breathed into Thomas' mouth and kissed him gently, nipping and pulling lightly at his bottom lip. Thomas shivered as he lowered himself back into the pillows.

Philip then reached down slowly, and cupped his hand protectively on Thomas' erection through his trousers and whispered, "This is _all_ mine." He lightly stroked Thomas' length, just enough to cause the footman to stifle a loud groan.

_God … yes … God … yes_ … Thomas thought, but the sting in Philip's words about his age and his duties kept poking holes in his pleasure. The footman's pulse pounded with both desire and anger and it took every ounce of his will to not raise his hips into Philip's warm, willing and expert hand. Thomas was good at his job—damn good in fact—and it was something he was proud of.

Thomas tried to slow his breathing and focus on a slight crack on the ceiling as Philip undid his trousers and slipped his fingers into Thomas' underwear. Philip began to squeeze Thomas' cock in earnest, brushing his fingers across the already leaking tip, making it difficult for Thomas to speak. "I can … I-I can get any job … any job I want," he stammered, blinking rapidly with every word.

The hand disappeared.

_Fuck_. _I've done it now._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry this chapter is short, the next will make up for it. ;) Reviews are totally welcome and thanks for your favs and follows, too!**

Philip abruptly sat up. "Just let it _go_ already or you're going to have to leave," he snapped.

Thomas snorted in disbelief.

"I'm not joking." Philip said. "And _please_ stop looking like such a sad puppy. I really can't abide it."

Thomas closed his eyes and wanted to sink into the mattress and disappear. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, and turned to face the wall, slowly drawing his arms and legs into the fetal position.

Looking to divert Thomas from this particularly unpleasant path of discussion, Philip sighed in annoyance and said, "Let's not spoil tonight with worry. Just do your job, don't get into anyone's way and you'll be fine. Alleged _bruises_ and all."

"You said I'm nothing."

"Thomas, I know I was a bit harsh but it's only because I care about you so very much," Philip said as he pulled Thomas' shoulder to roll him over onto his back. "I'm the only one who does."

"Why? Am I _something_ to you?" _Please say yes._

Philip laughed, and then leaned over Thomas to coax his mouth open with his tongue. Philip devoured his lips while Thomas lay motionless beneath him. Thomas quickly began to give in to the wetness and the heat, and slowly ran his hands up Philip's back and into his hair. Thomas could have spent hours like this, just kissing, tongues entwined, tasting him. Gently tracing every contour of his body. Lying together curled around one another, safe from prying eyes.

"You … are my … delicious … ridiculous … boy," Philip murmured in between his rough kisses. He then turned his attention to the task of relieving Thomas of his livery, fumbling with the buttons on his waistcoat.

Thomas tried to look him in the eye but Philip was focused on the job at hand. "I want to stay with you," Thomas said in a small, hopeful voice. "Always."

"Yes, of course, my darling," Philip said distractedly as he pulled open Thomas' waistcoat. "So … many … damn … layers." He awkwardly tried to wriggle Thomas out of his waistcoat while Thomas was still lying on the bed, trying to gauge Philip's expression.

"Oh, sod it. Just take your clothes off yourself," Philip huffed and elbowed Thomas in the chest as he began to slide out of his dressing gown.

Thomas' heart twitched and then pushed reason away. He found that the words came spilling out uncontrollably, the words he had been dying to say since the night three weeks prior when he let Philip come inside him—Thomas' very first time ever.

"I love you so … I love you _so_ much."

Philip's face softened and he placed a light kiss on Thomas' forehead. He looked into Thomas' eyes, cupped his face and rubbed his thumb along his sharp cheekbone.

"No more talking tonight, Thomas," Philip said, and leaned in closer to whisper into his ear, "Just moan and cry for me."

Thomas nodded slowly.

"And if you gladly let me ravish your pretty little neck again maybe, just this once, I'll let you stay all night."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Things in the chapter get a little intense. I think this is going to be the last one.**

_Yes. Thank God. _Thomas thought.

Thomas jumped off of the bed and quickly tore through the rest of his livery, tossing each article of clothing onto the floor in a wrinkled heap. _Fuck Carson_ _and his fucking caterpillar eyebrows_. Thomas climbed back onto the bed and pulled Philip (who was grinning madly) on top of him. Thomas raised his arms above his head, ready for Philip to pin them there.

Philip seized Thomas' wrists and laughed, "That's the spirit, my boy."

Thomas shifted his position and angled the unblemished side of his pale neck toward Philip as a sort of offering. Philip wasted no time in resuming his earlier ministrations, but felt Thomas stiffen at the first bite.

Philip placed a kiss overtop the spot and said softly into Thomas' neck, "I don't mean to hurt you so much, darling. I just can't help myself. That's all I'm going to say." Low animal sounds slipped from between Thomas' lips as Philip began alternating between hard bites and nibbles with just the edge of teeth.

Philip sensed Thomas' compliance and released his grip on his wrists. He turned his attention to Thomas' chest and exhaled lightly across the sparse dark hair, stirring it just enough to make Thomas squirm and pant with delight. He continued making a ragged path of kisses and bites down Thomas' taut belly toward his erection. At the first contact of Philip's tongue on the tip, Thomas nearly bucked him off of the bed and immediately regretted his loss of control, fearing some sort of reprisal, yet Philip just growled deeply in his throat as his lips curled into a devilish smile. He began to teasingly lick up and down Thomas' shaft, keeping his eyes on Thomas' face and waiting for his reaction. Thomas' eyes rolled back into his head as the sensation made him almost sick with pleasure. A few more seconds and he would be done. _Please just this once, finish what you've started, _he thought desperately.

Philip raised his head and reached into the drawer next to the bed and got out a bottle of oil. He held it out towards Thomas and gave it a little shake as Thomas snatched it out of his hand. Thomas sat up and poured it out into his palms and began to rub it onto his aching erection, shuddering at the touch of his own hands.

Philip grabbed him by the arm and interrupted, "No, me first." The curt words shook Thomas out of his reverie and he paused for a few heartbeats, trying to gather his thoughts.

"I meant every word I said a few moments ago," Thomas said, his voice quivering slightly as poured more oil into his hands and set to work on Philip's waiting cock as he groaned. He then let Philip push him back onto the bed.

"I did, too, so shhhhhhhhhh. Shut it," Philip hissed as he leaned in to place a finger against Thomas' lips to silence him. Thomas tilted his head back, opened his mouth and took in Philip's finger all the way to the back of his throat, wrapping his tongue around it and sucking rhythmically.

"Ohhhhhh … Jesus. God." Philip whimpered as Thomas spat out his finger and said, "You know what I want to hear."

"Fine," Philip whined. "If you _insist_ upon being such a schoolgirl tonight and _chatting_, then you can tell me how much you want me inside you. Now."

Thomas decided to pull out all the stops to persuade Philip to be in a bit more of a receptive mood. He batted his eyelashes coquettishly and writhed on the bed, arching his back, rubbing his own belly and thighs, and fingering his own entrance. He purposefully avoided his dripping cock so he could leave it on full display for Philip, who gazed down appreciatively and bit his lip.

"Ooooooo, your grace. You're sooooo enormous," Thomas exaggeratedly moaned, knowing that Philip would lap it up. "I'm soooooo hungry for you. Fill me now."

Philip inhaled sharply through his nostrils. "Hnnnnnn, fuck, yes. On your knees now and keep talking, you little bitch," he urged as he reached under Thomas and smacked him hard on his backside.

Thomas bristled at the words more than the slap. This wasn't going the way he had wanted. Like many times before in his life, he had made a tactical mistake, and he was determined not to ruin the good thing he thought he had with Philip.

"No. Stop. I can't do this again. I don't _want _to do this again," Thomas said, surprised by the suddenly firm tone of his own voice. "I want to see you. Please. Like … like the first time. Look me in the eyes while we ... you know." He reached up and captured Philip's face in both of his hands.

"Oh come on …" Philip sniffed as he shrugged off Thomas' touch.

"I want to see what you look like again when you reach … _there_. I want to please you _so_ much."

Pursing his lips, Philip reconsidered and said, "Mmmmmm … so that means you would admit you're _desperate_ for me … yes?"

"Yes. You know I am."

"Ummmm. I don't think I do." He stuck his chin out. "Tell me again."

"I need you. I need your heart. I need every bit of you," Thomas pleaded.

Philip hummed in satisfaction.

"Please … please … look me," Thomas whispered.

For a moment, Thomas felt that he and Philip were one—their sweat mingling, their breathing and heartbeats falling in sync, their eyes locked. _This is really it, he's going to say it_, Thomas thought.

Instead, Philip smirked and pushed Thomas' thighs apart and roughly thrust three dry fingers into his entrance at once. Thomas winced in pain and stifled a cry. He thought he'd never get used to the initial shock and the sensation of being penetrated. Just the idea of it had consumed his thoughts the moment he was told at 12 with extreme disgust by his older brother how men had sex. (The 14-year-old's main source of entertainment was scaring his little brother with horror stories both real and imagined.)

"Ahhhh, Thomas. You're still _so_ tight, so …. so … fucking _tight_." Philip moaned as he tried to stroke Thomas from the inside. He replaced his fingers with his slick cock and slowly placed the head at Thomas' entrance. Philip closed his eyes for a moment almost in silent prayer and grabbed Thomas by the thighs and slid inside. He immediately began to thrust quickly and deeply.

Thomas felt completely overwhelmed by the now almost familiar full feeling and tried to meet Philip's movements by pushing against him. He struggled to anchor himself to the bed but only came up with a handful of sheets. He then wrapped his arms around Philip's back to pull him closer. Thomas wanted Philip to love him so badly—to be so connected—like their first time together.

"Please say it. _Say it_," Thomas whimpered.

"It? What do you want me to say?" Philip grunted as he pushed Thomas' arms away to hook Thomas' legs over his shoulders to gain deeper access. "Christ, Thomas, I'm sort of _engaged _at the moment!"

"Tell me how much I mean to you." Thomas whispered. He didn't want to say "love" out loud; he wanted to hear the word from Philip himself, and tried to pull himself away from Philip's firm grasp on his thighs. It was an unsuccessful attempt, but Philip had gotten the message that the evening was about to turn ugly unless he gave in to Thomas' needs.

"Why do I let you … ugh … get to me this w-way?" Philip half sobbed, half laughed. "You … oh God … make it _so_ hard for me … fuck … to refuse you anything." He began to slow his pace into something that approximated tenderness and consideration, circling his hips to make Thomas moan with gratitude.

Thomas looked up at him adoringly. Philip couldn't help but genuinely smile.

"Ummmm. Uhhhh. Oh fuck.," Philip groaned, sweat dripping down his face. "I was saving this … for later but I've … I've written you a … a p-p-poem, darling."

Thomas' eyes lit up. "Ahhhhhhhhh, really? Oh, Philip," he sighed and thought _he does love me_.

"Alright. Here goes. _He walks in_ … uhnghh ahhhhh … _beauty, like the n-n-night._ Fuck. Ahhhh. _Of cloudless climes and _God_… _ummmmm _… starry skies … _ghhhhh … _And all, and all … _oh fuck_ … that's best of dark and _night … Christ, I mean_ … bright. _Ah. Ah. Ah._ Meet in his … _ahhhhh_ … aspect and his eyes. _Fuck._"_

_Byron … you liar_, Thomas thought. _Thinks I'm illiterate and never went to school or opened a fucking book to know that's Byron._

"Do you like it, sweetheart?" Philip anxiously asked as he looked down at Thomas, waiting to be praised for his incredible poetic skills.

"Yes I-I-I do. Oh God. It's lovely. Ahhhhhh. Thank you," Thomas smiled weakly. _He does mean well. _And he was starting to hit that spot that made Thomas feel like he was going to die.

Philip smirked with satisfaction and resumed his earlier rough thrusting.

But Thomas wasn't satisfied. The words, "Just say it," slipped from his lips in between moans. (Thomas had no idea why he was pushing Philip so far. It was like picking at a scab —just too irresistible not to do. Thomas had laid his soul bare earlier and now it was his turn to get something back as equally raw from Philip.)

A flash of anger crossed Philip's face "Goddamn it, Thomas, seriously?"

Thomas found himself close to tears and begged, "I _know_ you do."

"Do what?" Philip barked, his face turning redder with every word. "Jesus! If I'd wanted a woman … fuck … I'd be with one right now!"

That was enough to send Thomas over the edge and into full-fledged crying. Philip felt a powerful surge of desire shoot straight to his cock at the sight and the sound and began to pant, "Alright alright… ugh … keep doing that but not too loudly … mustn't wake Mamma … mustn't wake Mamma … ahhhh … I'm so cl-cl-close … ahhhhhh …fuck. Oh, Jesus … alright. Iloveyou … Iloveyou."

Thomas' erection was trapped between their two bellies, the weight and the movement against the oil and sweat along with the words he had longed to hear became too much to bear. He felt the wave of release begin to crest and arched his back as he climaxed, calling Philip's name and weeping in relief.

Philip threw his head back and came deep inside Thomas. He collapsed on top of him and gasped, "God, Thomas, I love you. I really do." Crushed underneath Philip's heaving chest, Thomas mouthed the words, "Thank you." and kissed the top of Philip's head.

Phillip immediately unhooked Thomas' legs and rolled off to lie down next to him, throwing his arm over his eyes. They stayed side-by-side, not touching, trying to catch their breath and gain some semblance of sanity.

After a few minutes and a decidedly calmer atmosphere, Thomas made the first move and nestled onto Philip's chest, kissed his nipple, and then buried his nose in his armpit, sighing, ready to fall into a blissful sleep.

"I knew you loved me," he spoke quietly into the coarse dark hair, inhaling that special scent that he adored.

Philip shrugged Thomas off of him. "Enough soppy stuff," he whispered. "I'm not finished with you yet." He placed his hand on the back of Thomas' head and nudged him down toward his already hardening cock.

Thomas grumbled sleepily and Philip yanked him by his hair, "Mmmmmm, be a good boy for me. Show me what a great teacher I am," he purred.

Thomas just wanted to stay in Philip's arms, twirl his finger around the curls on his chest until he fell into what he knew would be the sweetest dreams of his life but he would do anything, _anything_, if it would possibly mean he'd say, "I love you." again. He obligingly tilted his head to get a better angle, took Philip into his mouth, and began to suck gently.

Philip settled back into the pillows and murmured as he stroked Thomas' hair, "Hmmmm. The virgin has become the whore."

Thomas closed his eyes and sighed through his nose while he rolled Philip's cock around in his mouth and massaged his thighs.

Philip shifted his weight on the bed and began to move his hips slowly and moaned, "Go on, darling. I want you to _swallow. _Every. Single. Drop."

**A/N: So Philip does love Thomas in some weird way. Sort of a happy ending. :) Thanks for reading!**


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